Spectrum
by Amarin Astarte aka Leif Verde
Summary: Part Three of Windrider's Song. Telling the story from youngest to eldest.


Spectrum 

Once the pain dies away after an hour or so, he slips into an exhausted sleep. It is not a particularly peaceful one, but so long as he rests, I am fine. Javan has nodded off on the couch, considerably more calm in his slumber than his lord. I stroke Raziel's bangs back from his face, then work to remove his cloak and armors without waking him. Easier than I thought, and I wonder what state he will be in for Kain's training.   
I wonder what he is dreaming as I watch him. A nightmare, obviously, and when he begins trying to push something or someone away I want to wake him. I choose, instead, to restrain him. When my hands grasp his shoulders, I find myself dodging wildly swiping claws. One slices the leather of my bracer deeply, but I don't let go. Not even when he scores my chest. I know the wound will be long in closing, but I'd rather that than he hurt himself. He settles after a few minutes of thrashing, sinking back into a deep sleep.  
I wake him as the sky begins to darken; knowing Kain will be expecting him soon. In truth, I am anxious myself to see him fly, but I fear Kain's wrath if it is discovered that perhaps those wings aren't capable of the strength he's anticipated. Though I prod him with all intended gentleness on the subject, Raziel is oddly silent about his gift as he feeds on the young human woman I had waiting for him. 

Well, now, this should be very interesting. Watching Raziel fly will be quite a study in anatomy. Such unusual wings compared to the bats and birds I've dissected in my curiosities. This is the first time in at least a century that interest in my brother's activities has superseded my scientific and theological studies. Truthful, I'd like to get him on my slab and cut at those wings, see how the muscles and bones and tendons work. They certainly sprouted at a strange position on his body. I'd have thought wings more of a mid-upper back or shoulder thing, as with birds and bats. But those replace arms, and seeing as how he still has his, I suppose wings placed against the shouldeblades would impede movement. Perhaps watching him in flight will shed some light on the reason behind their placement...   
Kain watches him just as expectantly as I do. Raziel seems almost confused at first, not knowing where to start. Out of boredom, I've studied the human texts on the flight of birds, among other animals, and know that young learning to fly tend to pick a high perch to leap from. I want to yell this to him, tell him to go climb a tree, as I watch him flap and test the strength of his wings. This will be exceedingly amusing. 

It's not often I get to see my eldest brother perform with so little grace. Watching Raziel learn to fly is the most humorous thing I've seen in a while.  
I sit on a stone and watch the master Kain shout commands and Raziel attempt to follow them. If I had wings, I would have completely mastered flight by now. Raziel has at best mastered gliding. A loping run, wild flapping, and a few minutes airborne. He seems almost childlike in his clumsy efforts, always mindful of Kain's growing displeasure.  
After several hours of frantic fluttering, he appears to develop a sense of the skill and circles over our master's head. A sudden gust of wind catches him off guard, and he performs an admirable bit of aerial acrobatics to avoid being smashed into the wall of the Sanctuary. After that, he gains an abnormal agility, and soon Kain looks pleased as he dances on the wind.   
I should have been first born. This is a thought I suppose each of us thinks over and over every time we see our lord catering to Raziel's whims, but I know I am suited to the role. At least I am better suited than he is. The Razielim are noble warriors, but they assume too much of themselves and their lord. Raziel is still too young in mind, an eternal youth of sorts. Arrogant and so sure that he can handle anything that comes his way. All of his clan are the same. I don't recall ever seeing a Razielim over thirty years of age. He picks only the youngest and the most headstrong. But my Rahabim... they're older, weathered... experienced in the hardships of the world. They don't grow bored as easily as my brother's children, and certainly don't bother themselves with frivolities like relationships and silly, childlike games. If they play anything, it's war games. They struggle and fight to become as adept with my favored weapon, the Trident. Many of my children stand very well against even Turel's brood. Very well. The Razielim will not "lower" themselves to meet our challenges. They just laugh and go back to their swordances and bloodrose gardens. Vain bastards. 

I absolutely can't contain my laughter after such smooth and birdlike flight Raziel makes what is perhaps the worst landing I've ever seen in my entire thousand years existing. Going too fast is the cause, perhaps, but he trips as he comes in and ends up tumbling heel over ears and landing at Kain's feet. Oh, he looks so humiliated. Especially when Kain picks him up by the scruff of the neck and sets him on his feet. I can't hear what exactly our lord says to my dear brother, but Raziel actually flinches before taking flight again.   
How funny!   
Kain is making him practice LANDING!   
I nearly tumble from my seat in laugher at the display. I can hear at least Zephon and Turel laughing as well. The sound carries clearly, and Raziel throws a delightfully indignant sneer our way before managing to execute several over-elegant landings, looking like some kind of flitting human female dancer rather than Kain's precious Angel of Death. Even more disgusting is our lord seems to be pleased with him. 

I should have been the one gifted with wings. Mine is the true warrior clan among the six of us! Dumahim, Rahabim, they near the stature of my clan, but they will never surpass them. Dumah is rash in his choice of additions, and his children have no discrimination. They either feed or sire, and the line has grown thin and weak at the furthest tendrils. Rahab's childer are a deadly lot, adept with claw or fork, but foolish and callous as their Lord. They have no dreams of what Nosgoth could be.   
To be fair as a warrior, Raziel's clan are a swift and dangerous group when they want to be, which is rarely. The Razielim practice what they call "the Dance." Prancing about like fawn-deer with light swords and staves... pointless! They should be improving their strength and constitution, not how gracefully they step. Power is of use in battle, not dancing. They never draw blood in their mock battles.... Unlike my clan. Let the pretty youths play their silly games, and let me be Kain's Angel of Death. He does not need one who collects humans like pretty trinkets, but one willing to turn them inside out regardless of packaging. Raziel had his moment in the first war, and it is my time now. The humans, too long ignored, have grown strong again, and I suspect a possible organization of Serafan-like hunters. How else could they have destroyed even a single one of my clan? No, this new danger will be mine to crush; this new battle will be mine to lead. One way or another. 

My wings ache from the effort of the exercises Kain put me through. I had not expected to move so quickly in "training." I suppose that Kain assumed I had already had sufficient practice in the air to be able to handle the maneuvers he asked of me. He was sorely mistaken. I have spent so much time in one type of pain or another that it even hindered my leaving my chambers, much less going out to learn to fly.   
I think I displayed to satisfaction my ability to rise to the occasion and deliver what is expected of me, at least to a degree. It was not an easy task to ignore the chortles and jibes of my brethren. Dumah, in particular, cackled at any small failing I displayed. And his laughter at that one landing for which I know I shall suffer more than just the bruises acquired on it... I wanted to fly at him and claw the ragged sound from his throat with my claws.   
But I must admit that it feels good to fly. Liberating. The pressure of the wind against my outstretched wings, against my body, fighting the pull of the earth. I realized at some point in between Kain's orders that there was now nowhere in Nosgoth closed to me. The tops of the highest mountains now belonged to me as much as they did the dark birds that nested upon them. I am free in a way my brothers can never be. I do not miss their looks of unbridled jealousy when I pass over their heads.  
It is several hours before Kain calls an end to this. I try to avoid listening too closely to his remonstrance of my performance. His promise of correction. I nod and acquiesce without hearing, keeping the thought of one day flying high enough to touch the stars as a buffer in my mind. 

Displeasing, but not entirely, his performance today. I did not truly expect him to be as adept as I lead him to think, but I expected he'd have at least tried his wings to some major degree. Not that it matters. We shall keep at this until he's at a state I want him to be. And it should keep him occupied.  
These wings... I did not expect such a manifestation, but now that they have, I think it is only a matter of time before he begins to see things best kept hidden. Short of his death, there is little I can do to prevent this, knowing what I do....   
I fear this may be the point at which all things begin to unravel, and my hands are tied. 


End file.
